Long Supplant Poems
Long Supplant Poems. Below are the most popular long Supplant by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Supplant poems by poem length and keyword.
Pleasant spring like day January 12th, 2020
Courtesy climate change
(think global warming),
I would never wish to exchange
unseasonable temperature
way out of range
far to balmy, undoubtedly
ole man winter
weather did shortchange.
Once thermometer readings rise
even smidgen one moost not minimize
Earth way out of balance,
I haint gonna catastrophize
as bajillion acres plus
one after another ocean dries
even the skeptic cannot turn
blind eye and believe contrary lies
when every species practically extinct
and self proclaimed éminence grise
doth trumpet and stubbornly tries
to claim plethora unearthed resources
as sudden goldmine
against wages of sin
former traitor joe redeemers actualize
to catalyze nth industrial revolution
teaching as heresy
ecocentric, which material basket
of deplorables power mongers bowdlerize
Concurrence toward meteorological
trend most all people agree
toward adapting, experiencing,
and witnessing increase -
fair in height degree
bestowed upon Thomas Newcomen,
Richard Arkwright, Samuel Crompton,
Edmund Cartwright
and James Watt first Industrial
Revolution conferred as honoree
appellation not necessarily
in retrospect donned as noble pedigree,
now hundred of years
later downside we see
of belching, coughing,
disorging... yes siree
foul, (née deadly)
cancerous, gaseous, noxious... pollutants.
Decreased dissension
grudgingly did abate
unclouded protests trumpet
Trump to abdicate
irrefutable proof generates
activist voices to accumulate
linkedin over Green Party
blessedly to administrate
hoop fully figurative tide
will turn and aerate
political atmosphere whereby
progressive minds will affiliate
otherwise business as usual,
cuz spewing deadly particulate
will only aggravate
dire straits, where series
of unfortunate events will airdate
prophetic apocalyptic fate
especially if nonprogressive
stodgy commander in chief re-elected
flush with bigotry and hate
increased chance (chants) ripe state
for revolution avast swath
of population to amalgamate,
and overthrow anachronistic government
absolute zero survival unless dramatic
nondestructive strategy eschewed
to supplant exploitation and mandate
radical transformation, which dramatic
shift off grid if lucky requisite
Earth friendly manufacturing
can possibly ameliorate.
Written: August 16, 2025, for contest by Unseeking Seeker
Line of inquiry:
"conjoined with the whole - we play our life role
exuding a scent - granting love consent"
************
Conjoined with the Whole
Not as sovereigns,
but as sylphlike strands,
woven into a ductile tapestry—
Each act of kindness forges
a bond within the communal consciousness.
Love is not a shadowy incantation,
nor a glamour to inveigle us into isolation.
It is hortatory, beckoning forth...
a rosy summons to convene,
amid the clangor of squalor and sojourn
to supplant the slipshod ache
with a warm intention.
We are not mere wanderers
adrift in nebulous vacuum—
We are emulous embers,
thirsting for the amaranthine,
avid to imbue our days,
with seraphic resonance.
Community is not a chimera,
It is pavonine in its iridescent truth,
multivocal in its sweet sorrow,
edacious for connection
but never laden with avarice.
We do not dismiss the burden—
We collocate it, we share it
withdraw from silence,
and cast aside the Icarus myth,
a tale of solitary flight,
Even the untamed child.
crumbles for the quest of kinship—
Even the weary elder winnows,
the soothing balm of a neighbor’s touch.
Love sanctions its courtliness—
not merely a whispered sigh,
but as a philanthropic deed,
a calyx protruding,
amid the clamor of desire.
To love is to be an iconoclast
to find solace in a gentle embrace—
to forbear the yearning
to anathematize others
to witness the evocative elysian—
in the eyes of the distraught.
We are not aphonic.
We are harmonious,
even in our disconsolate times.
We are evocative, full of meaning,
even when our souls feel drained.
And when we reflect,
We accomplish this together—
in the emollient of shared grief,
in the soothing touch of shared joy.
So let us frolic with abandon,
Let us explore the hidden meadows of our lives.
Let us gather in our joy,
transcendent in our understanding,
Our sense of self is transient.
Let us be love—
not as an elusive dream,
but a tangible act.
Let us be united with the whole.
And play our life roles.
with eloquence
vibrancy,
and grace.
God is the cardinal creator
He is the generous giver
He can rise a dead to life, being the grantor
He can create a thing that existed never
He gave what you have
He knows whatever you know
Your deeds drive Him to decide what to give
As you deserve, He does sow
From you, He has nothing to get
He may test you before giving
To test your devotion, test He may set
To adjudge your faith and to ordain your living
Divine dream driven to sacrifice his dearest son
Candid command relates, not to a materialistic thing
One that can’t be a supplant or substitute being beyond season
Rather very well one, from his own being
Being the one and only son,
who was born of the Spirit, by the will of God
for a centenarian father, with a divine reason
as Abraham always adored Allah, for the overall good
Yet his faith on God as the Judge of the universe, was not weaken
Nor he took it as the biggest bitter pill to swallow
His trust over Allah was not shaken
Bewildering but bemused Abraham chose his dream to follow
His wife too accepted the sacrifice, with pleasure
She knows him as a man of noble character and an ‘apostle of Allah’
He was obedient to Allah and upright by nature
He never knows then, he too shall stay in history as messiah
Farewell kiss in the forehead of son, she gave
Son too set forward amusingly unto the altar
Execution was about to happen but Allah intervened to save
To proclaim the faith of Abraham as an ever shining star
This a terrific trial to test the deepness of devotion
Act of Abraham is an exemplary example of selfless surrender
Upholds the unity and understanding of a family, with a mention
Obedience to God opens gates of riches, grace, kindness and wonder!
His firm faith is famed as the holy ‘Muslim festival of sacrifice’
Eid-ul-Adha ever confirms that God unfailingly rewards those who do right
Faithful obedience to God like Hazrat Abraham, is suffice!
Even in dark and dungeon, God shall give you then, hope and sight!!
Above Poem is adapted from the eBook "BIRD OF PARADISE AND OTHER POEMS" by Mr.V.MUTHU MANICKAM. Copyrights reserved.
Written: August 15, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
Quote: "Try not to resist the changes that come your way. Instead, let life live through you. And do not worry that your life is turning upside down. How do you know that the side you are used to is better than the one to come?" By Rumi
*******
Once, I danced a duet of defiance,
a crisp sigh in the stillness of the cosmos—
until the sickle sang,
and the scythe, a leering doppelgänger,
shattered my days from the rosy veil of illusion.
A pavonine sky gasped through heavy clouds.
Each drop of light is a solitary hymn of the soul,
The pestilence, unseen by vermin, persists.
But with a smile too zoetic to be merciful.
Alchemy abandoned me.
not the quest for transmuted gold,
but the unraveling of verity—
in the ravenous search for reason,
that cast me into the woods of skepticism,
where even the stars seemed to stutter.
I swirled in a river of oblivion.
washed my eyes in the katabatic abyss,
abjured the glamor of who I once was,
and grasped the clamor of who I’d become—
a wild soul of weary hopes,
jerked by the jussive hands of power.
The world turned polyphonic—
each voice is a tapestry of longing and disdain,
each echo is a lamentation of pain,
I found myself intrigued by my rival shadow.
a weary iconoclast with an ischemic soul.
Yet amid the swirling tempest,
A glimmer of veridical light coruscated—
not to supplant the ache,
but to celebrate it,
to twist it into a desideratum purpose.
I learned to stammer abyssal words,
to embrace the loneliness of silence,
to whirl with my wounds
and gaze through my eyes.
where bees buzzed with chaotic harmony.
The sky is now stained by nighttime decay.
I do not falter in my voice.
I do not renounce.
In my wreckage, I stand resilient—
marvelous in my courage.
The sunset is no longer my downfall.
it casts a shadow across my soul—
a flame that bends and sways,
a celestial scar.
A life altered, yet intact in its last breath,
yet with a willingness to embrace life.
The boy was aged about eighteen,
Pale and pensive,
Weary and frail in appearance.
He could have been
Goethe's Werther,
Senancour's Obermann
Or Chateaubriand's melancholy hero,
Embraced by a generation,
And about whom Sainte-Beuve said:
"Rene, c'est moi."
Tortured by a new mal du siecle,
He sought refuge
In the Club Bouzingo.
Two young poets,
One dark, the other fair,
Drifted past. The first,
Whose black hair
Hung in ringlets over his shoulders,
Wore a small pointed beard,
Black velvet tails,
A white linen shirt
Loosely fastened at the neck
By a thin pink taffeta tie;
The second wore a tight coat
That opened onto a silk crimson waistcoat
And a lace jabot, white trousers
With blue seams,
And a wide-brimmed black hat, and
In one of his hands
He carried a long thin pink-coloured pipe.
They were soon joined
By some of their dandified companions.
The music had stopped playing, and
The poet-leader in cape and gloves,
Dark and pomaded
With a Theophile Gautier moustache,
Took to the stage,
Where he proceeded to declaim
Selections from his subversive verses
To delirious cheers,
As if sedition was imminent;
Only the boy-poet remained silent,
His pale cheeks
Soaked by the freshest tears.
"Apres nous, le deluge,"
He said under his breath,
"Our leader preaches revolution
But provides no solution
As to the fate of coming generations,
Should the infant be cast out
With the bath water that is so filthy
In his sight
That, intent on doing right,
Gives no thought to the future,
Nor to what might supplant
The society he claims to despise."
The boy was aged about eighteen
Pale and pensive
Weary and frail in appearance.
He could have been
Goethe's Werther,
Senancour's Obermann
Or Chateaubriand's melancholy hero,
Embraced by a generation,
And about whom Sainte-Beuve said:
"Rene, c'est moi."
Tortured by a new mal du siecle,
He sought refuge
From the Club Bouzingo.
(The origins of "Bouzingo: The Gathering of the Poets" lie in an unfinished tale, possibly dating from around 1979.)
"And Today's Special is Wine and Cheese"
Some wine and cheese
If you would please
Depressed, I cannot express myself for I’m being oppressed and repressed
Yet, I reside in the west, my lines are treated as an unwelcome guest
I’ve ornamented ideas that will go unheard
Reading them will be seen as a vulture transcribed word
“A Stale Birthday Cake,” could be submitted
But a lot of terms are not permitted
If I leave those texts out to describe my rage
It might as well be written in the stone age
Here’s an example, “ , ” substantial white noise is found on this page
“The Penetralia Ruby Queen,” hint, the anatomy
But, is there no shame, outcry, how dare I, the audacity
It conveys about some person with a dancing nymph’s fantasy
But it altercates against the morals of Christianity
Here’s an example, “ , ” undeniably excommunicated for blasphemy
The villainous bark, scream, “Cultures Dark Theme”
It’s something written from a nightmare’s dream
If submitted, it would drive the masses into insanity
Yet, this piece of work prohibits the usage of profanity
Here’s an example, “ , ” silenced because others must be spared of its inhumanity
“The World’s Playground” still waiting to see if it gets banned
Negligent in comprehending the rules beforehand
The lyrics uses a word to describe a person who gets paid
In an ideal world, I could just switch the rhyme to being laid
Here’s an example, “ ,” my apologies for the cross realm alabaster masquerade
Finally, “Unzipped Apple Core,” was written as a rant indeed
Bitten by the fire ant, I was hoping it would supplant a seed
But apparently the flying monkey festival has everyone strapped to a ticking time bomb
Another useless firework display to a bromide poem, so turn the page to end this sitcom
The doctor said, "Take this. It will cure the social disease”
So, for my last supper please, I would like some wine and cheese
Updated 5/14/2019
Form:
Moon shed maximum bulb shares us
her grey making floodlight flash beam
Hitting front sides bright, the rest seen
by cautious shuffle, by textured touch
Forest in scratched cotton, we wander, lost
Find ourselves intrigued by her windswept
Tree top violent fighting, underneath kept
Becalmed below canopy' s tantrum tossed
Frail lady limbs lift in praise of invisibility
Humans don't usually walk in the dark
Quiver leaf edges wave light seeking spark
Together no register of dark difficulty
Trek begun in afternoon's everlong promise
Assured us fireplace evening in holiday home
True to weekend whimsy, we went without phone
Too hazy to feel when dusk tamped upon us
Blinking regularly at beacon moon vivid
Busy branch hands reach to tangle my hair
You strip it from me, supplant yours there
Scooped, encaved by you, lips delivered
Questioned, will this ease our fear, kisses
Colourless mouths drive and receive message
Clarity in your signalling lips impressive
Way home where we are, present, viscious
Biting reminds me, intensity of life is vital
Your intent brings surety, my body flourishes
Urge to absorb your heartbeat encourages
Chest connection pulsate, music to cry to
Roar of angered branches above turn timid
Spectators to human demonstration
Star ceiling winks at our illicit illustration
Hushed forest watches as flush is kindered
Closer isn't enough, heat travels free of clothes
Bottom on moss embankment sponge flung
Entangled in forest enamour, ice fingers stung
Blood streams bravely over stoney shallows
You become the hum of frantic tree faces
Merged mammoth canopy caresses me
I chorus with owl implore carelessly
One with lost pressed urgent embraces
2nd September 2020
Lingering light dwindles among the horizon
Twilight fades with a farewell from the sun
Shadows disappear as stars sprinkle the sky
with the moon illuminating those who walk by
Woods appear so much more ominous at night
silent blackness causing an overwhelming fright
Trees are like charcoal – inky blankets all around
as nocturnal animals hunt without making a sound
Country paths seem lifeless in the eerie dark
occasionally disturbed by a guard dog’s bark
Temperatures fall with the mid winter freeze
people feel the chill with the cold air breeze
Day light sneaks in as the sun begins to rise
the moon and stars hide away in disguise
Patiently waiting for the darkness to reappear
so they can play again, when humans disappear.
~~~
Soft amber and glistening gold hesitate on the horizon
Melting mysteries of silence and glowing a surprise in
Creating kindness that flows from rivers in graceful sighs
Healing, encouraging and enlightening as it does chastise
Miracles, bold and vibrant, awaken the heart to delights
Enriched by truths discovered in dancing rays of insights
Rich hues of crimson memories float across my mind
As the music of heaven’s graceful vibrance leaves behind
Memories I’ll treasure as I walk through this rich life
Where beauties surround me and keep me from strife
Inspiration walks past the silent breathes of imagination
And I welcome the gifts that enlighten and thrill from creation
Where gentlest sparks of joy cultivate with hope to enchant
Giving me gifts from heaven that will eventually supplant
All the worries that haunt me and live in the shadows within
Where longings for the promises of God’s love does begin
Collaboration with the Silent One Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Silent One
Silent One’s verse in Bold
Written on October 16, 2020
Undiscovered poets hear me, to PH draw near,
This just might be a good chance for your views to ring clear.
An email address you need to get up and running,
Huge monkeys it‘s said could really write something stunning.
So grab paper and pen, come as soon as you canna,
But don't forget please sir to bring several banana.
Enough monkey typewriters might just supplant Shakespeare,
Given enough time (and assuming plenty of beer.)
We don't have all day but trust me. I have a good hunch,
With banana enough friend we don't think about lunch.
So let's all hop to it just see man what we can do,
If monkey shenanigans truly carry us though.
Show literary typos the ace in our pocket,
By lighting the fuse to our post(English) grad rocket.
Brian Johnston
May 6, 2014
Poet's Notes:
Brian's bastardized Jamaican English explained….
...'PH' - PoemHunter (you know man, the site you be on right now)
…‘Huge' - a synonym for ‘a great many' or ‘a large number of'….
…'canna' - a synonym for ‘are able to, ' or slang for ‘smoke a joint, ' dare I say
...............it 'cannabis! ' (Serendipitous luck I assure you. I'm not that smart.)
…'banana' - the plural form of banana. Hey it's my poem!
…'supplant' - a synonym for ‘prove to be better than' as in ‘my pot's better .................than your pot'….
….'beer' - an alcoholic beverage you always think you can drink more of….
…'shenanigans' - an Irish? word that means ‘horse play' or ‘sculduggery'….
…'typos' - a new hip word comparing Poetry snobs to a misspelled word….
…'ace in the pocket' - a way to cheat when playing the card game Poker….
…'post(English) grad rocket' - a new poetry craze that English majors can't
..........................................crack! ....
If I could, I would write a love poem that never exist
But exist in the lost mind of the betrayal of love.
If I could, I would stop the movement of the clock,
If I could go to heaven to see God, I would go
On sunday and ask him why men are different from
Women whose brains are always at their back head.
If I could love, I would love pretty ugly women,
If I could marry, I would marry ugly women
So that I won't be able to share my jewel with
Anyone who does not know how to wear his pant.
If I could dream, I would dream like Joseph and
Dance along the earthless edges of the world with smiles.
If I could say yes at the presence of the sun,
I would behold the moon and ask him of my father.
If I could get money, I would be happy and good
But Alas, no amount of money can supplant the sadness I have caused in the presence of my pursuit.
No amount of wondering can rephrase my reneged promises to those children of the butterfly street.
Now chrismas is at the corner of my door waiting,
If I could water her soul and bath her body,
She would be happy to stay in my house and be
My guest; for a night stand with a sister like her is not a sin to the adulterous Romans whose lips are calling me.
If I could, I would stop the Chimpanzees from jubilating and languishing their joyless moods.
If I could, I would call on the rain on those lost daughters of yours whose legs are blindfolding my eyes.
The seasoned soup has watered my palatable stomach and I hope to release my tomorrow to him.
If I could make love to that lady, I would begin from her head.
If I could become a father today, I would be a wise father.
If I could dance I would dance just like David.